


Tempus Fugit

by fayzalmoonbeam



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Angst, Clameron - Freeform, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4093510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayzalmoonbeam/pseuds/fayzalmoonbeam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Notes: I wanted to write something about David and Nick’s first meeting alone after the General Election. Tempting as the idea was to have David in command, I wanted to turn it on its head; Nick’s lost everything, but David is the one who is bereft. Nick offers comfort to the man who has won. I was aiming for a deliberately spare style as well - I hope it's worked!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tempus Fugit

Nick’s route around the Commons has become maddeningly circuitous of late. Of course, his new seat in the chamber is a long way back from where the old one was, but, agonizingly, it gives him a perfect view of the front bench. He’s square on, facing the place he once took so proudly. But at least he can hide. The illusion of anonymity is enough for him, right now. He doesn’t need to push things.

 

When the note comes, hand written on Downing Street paper, Nick sighs. He knew it was coming, but he’d hoped he’d have a bit more time to prepare; hoped he’d be left to come to terms with things in his own way. He supposes recent events; the death of a good friend and political ally, may have precipitated things.

 

Nick notes the time he’s been offered; late in the day, a last appointment. If he was in the mood for conjecture, he’d come up with two explanations for this. First, it could be that there are far more important things to attend to than him. Second, and he feels his stomach lurch even though he’s trying not to think, it could be that he’s the last appointment of the day for a very different reason.

 

Steeling himself, he walks through the famous black door two minutes before the appointed time. He nods at the copper on door duty, recognizing him from before. He ascends the stairs to the office, trying not to think about how things have changed. The walk is the second longest of his life.

 

He pauses at the door. Takes a breath and goes to knock. A month ago he’d just have strolled in; the door wouldn’t have been closed, anyway, especially not to him. The wood feels solid under his knuckles, the sound unnecessarily loud.

 

‘Come in.’ The voice is muffled by the thickness of the door. Gone are the days, it seems, when the office’s resident would be at the frame to welcome him. Nick swallows hard and pushes it open.

 

David’s behind the desk as Nick enters. Before, he’d probably have been seated on the more casual chairs by the fireplace, or even on the window seat.

 

‘You wanted to see me, Prime Minister?’ Nick’s glad his voice is steady, under the circumstances.

 

David’s seems a little taken aback by the mode of address; Nick sees it, for a brief second, in his eyes; the slight tightening of the brows, the set of his mouth.

 

‘Thank you for coming.’ David starts to rise from his chair, then seems to think better of it and sits back down.

 

 

Nick swallows again, makes sure his voice is as steady as it can be. ‘How are you?’

 

David gives a slightly wan smile. ‘OK. Tired. Nancy’s been awake at night. Some of the kids are giving her grief at school.’

 

‘I’m sorry,’ Nick says automatically. ‘Antonio’s been getting something similar.’ It’s a lie. The boys have been getting worse, much worse.

 

‘How’s Miriam?’ David, more resolute this time, stands up to his full height and steps out from behind the desk.

 

‘Well. Sam?’

 

‘The same.’

 

Pleasantries dispensed with, an uncomfortable silence descends. Nick stands, feet carefully apart, hands slack at his sides, trying not to think.

 

‘I spoke to Ed today.’ David takes a step towards him, but at the last minute thinks better of coming any closer and wanders to the bay window instead. ‘He enjoyed Ibiza. Had time to recuperate, he says.’

 

Nick gives a small smile. ‘Needed it.’

 

They exchange small talk of things that both know the other already knows. Nick begins to wonder, again, why he’s been called here. He sneaks a look at his watch as David turns to stare out the window.

 

‘Was there something you wanted, Prime Minister?’ he risks eventually.

 

David draws a just about audible breath. ‘I rather thought we were off duty.’ He turns back in Nick’s direction, but the hesitant smile he offers disappears into nothing when his eyes meet Nick’s.

 

‘I’m not sure I follow,’ Nick lies. He sees those long fingers of David’s clench and is aware of his own doing the same. He sees David fighting an inner battle he is almost sure the man will lose.

 

‘Don’t say that,’ David says eventually. ‘Don’t treat me like a fool.’

 

Nick sucks in a sharp breath at the candour. ‘I should go.’

 

‘Stay.’ It’s not an order, but it sounds like one.

 

Nick stays put. He watches David mooch over to the bay window, sees his fingers starting to unravel and fidget. He’s seen that body language so many times; David’s got _I need a fag_ written all over him. Nick assumes he’s given up. Again.

 

Just as the silence is becoming unbearable, and Nick’s thinking of leaving, for real this time, David breaks it. ‘I’m sorry. I never wanted…never thought it would end up this way for you.’ He turns back from the window for a moment, trying to meet Nick’s gaze, then looks down at his shoes. ‘We could still…I don’t know…couldn’t we?’

 

Nick shakes his head. There are no words that can quantify how much he wants to, but how deep the knowledge is that he can’t. Then, realizing that David can’t see the movement, he speaks the gesture.

 

David slumps down onto the window seat. ‘I miss you.’

 

‘I know.’ Nick can’t look at him. This man, colleague, friend, lover; his light is too bright, and his own darkness is too painful. He crosses to the window, where David’s face is cast half in shadow. He sees David’s long back crumpled against the frame of the bay window, tired, defeated, when he should be jubilant.

 

Before he can think better of it, Nick closes the distance between them. He drops his head, brings a hand around to the back of David’s neck and presses his lips to the man’s forehead. The touch of skin on skin is still electrifying, but this is a chaste kiss, a forlorn kiss; a final kiss.

 

‘Christ, Nick,’ David chokes. ‘Oh Christ. What have we done?’ David’s hand reaches up to grasp the back of Nick’s neck, and Nick can feel David’s fingertips trembling. He aches to put his arms around him, to make the touches deeper, the kisses more intimate. All he can do is wonder at the fact that he, who has lost so much, is offering comfort to the man who has won it all.

 

‘Goodbye,’ he murmurs, feeling David’s breath start to shorten.

 

‘Don’t go…please.’ David begins to lose the battle, relinquish the last vestiges of emotional control. ‘I can’t do this alone.’

 

‘You’re not alone,’ Nick says. ‘You’ve got your whole team around you.’ He gives a mirthless laugh. ‘With no inconvenient Liberals to hold you back.’

 

‘I can’t do this without you.’

 

Nick feels his own throat constricting, closes his eyes, too late to stop the imminent flood. ‘Yes you can,’ he says hoarsely. ‘You always could.’

 

David pulls back, raises his eyes to meet those of the man who was so recently his second in command. ‘Then I don’t _want_ to do it without you.’

 

The pain Nick feels is reflected in David’s blue gaze, and there’s nothing else he can say. As their lips meet for the last time, he tries to imprint the moment on his heart, even as he feels it break. Somehow, both of them know there will never be another. The next time they meet, there will be a chamber between them.

 

 

 

 


End file.
